


Heart of Ruin

by Chisscake (Chaosite)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games), Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Heavy Angst, Minor Character Death, Post Game, broken Exile, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 04:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19822138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaosite/pseuds/Chisscake
Summary: "You should not have come to Malachor. She will break you, your mind, your body... you will be lost."- Darth Sion to the Jedi Exile on Malachor V





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “It was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice.”  
> ― Joseph Conrad, _Heart of Darkness_

Nothing ever stays the same on Nar Shaddaa.

It’s a place of constant motion, of ever-present change, where you either keep moving along with it or it swallows you whole. There are no peaceful places on Smuggler’s Moon, not even the Promenade with all of its flashy, artificial beauty only filthy amounts of Hutt money could buy, not the Sky Palaces, where the richest of the rich look down on struggling masses.

Jekk’Jekk Tarr didn’t use to be exactly a peaceful place either, but it _was_ a place to avoid. It might have already been infamous a couple years ago, even before a crazy Jedi walked in and murdered all patrons, but now, it’s also simply unpopular. It’s not like the clientele was squeamish about drinking in a place of a brutal massacre, only that it involved a Jedi, and bounty hunters tend to be a superstitious lot.

Still, it’s quite unusual even for the worst hellhole on the moon to remain without an owner for long, and Jekk’Jekk Tarr was ready for the taking for anyone who walked through the door. A disgruntled Devaronian stranded on Nar Shadaa set up his business there and continued on like nothing ever happened. But it’s not as it used to be. There are still scorch marks on the walls, broken chemicals dispensers standing in corners, and the clientele now consists mostly of addicts, slythmongers, cutthroats and people who are entirely indifferent whether they’ll live to see another day.

Atton used to spend most of his evenings just looking for marks left by a lightsaber, but he couldn’t find any, not here or on any other level. He wasn’t surprised, really, Yaire’s movements were always precise, terrifyingly so, considering the unforgiving nature of her double-bladed weapon.

“You’re gonna buy something or stare at the walls all night again?” The owner’s acerbic tone pulls Atton out of his musings.

“The usual, Zerc,” he orders, perching on one of the tattered barstools.

“Staring at the walls it is, then. With a dash of Dreamdust?” the Devaronian sighs, grabbing a bottle of _tihaar_ from underneath the counter.

“My, aren’t you a comedian. Can’t wait for the day when someone shoots you in the face, ‘cause _that_ will finally make me laugh.”

“Sorry, you were saying something?” Zerc makes a show of deliberately slowly poring the drink. “I just assumed you were talking to yourself again.”

“Why don’t you go take a walk off a landing pad.” Atton waves him off, emptying the glass in one go, and then grabbing the bottle.

He goes to lie down on one of the couches in the furthest corner of the room, where no one bothered to fix the light, and, hopefully, no one will bother him.

Jekk’Jekk Tarr is deathlike-still nowadays. Almost peaceful. He knows it’s not going to last forever, so he’s enjoying it while he still can.

“Wow, this place went from a regular shithole to a miserable shithole. No wonder you fit in so well.”

He would roll his eyes if he cared enough to open them.

“I like it here. If anyone tries to talk to me, I just shoot them and leave them for Zerc to clean up,” Atton cracks one eye open and looks at Mira pointedly.

“Cute,” she snorts, moving to sit at the table. “Mandalorian booze? Really?”

Atton jerks up and grabs the bottle before she can touch it.

“Hands off,” he says, taking a swing. “Are Jedi even allowed alcohol? Wait, _are_ you still a Jedi?” He eyes her outfit, a simple light vest and leather trousers may be a far cry from what she used to wear as a bounty hunter, but they’re no Jedi robes either. “Did you get kicked out or did you miss Nar Shadaa that badly?”

“Can you stop saying ‘Jedi’ now?” she asks irritably. “I can’t imagine we’re exactly popular in this place.”

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you wouldn’t be able to handle a few lowlifes drugged up to their eyeballs,” he snorts, pointing at the other patrons looking morosely into their glasses or fiddling with broken chemical dispensers.

Mira sighs, looking around. “This place doesn’t need any more violence.”

“Well, that was deep,” he says after a pause. “Is there anything in particular you wanted from me? We’re not doing reunions now, are we?”

“You know, I forgot how fucking annoying you are.”

“Huh, are Jedi even allowed such language?”

She slaps her palms on the table and moves to stand up.

“Dammit, Atton! Why am I even doing this,” she hisses. “I never understood what she saw in you.”

“Great, that makes two of us,” he bites out. He feels restless all of sudden, an old, long-buried anger slowly bubbling under the surface of his skin. He tries to ignore it, probably just some asshole released Xyathone in the air again. Fuck knows with these people. “Now, _is_ there anything else, or did you just come to shit-talk my feelings for old times’ sake?”

Mira’s shoulders sag in defeat. For a moment she just stands there, unmoving, a slight frown marring her face.

“Yes,” she answers finally. “Yes, there is. It’s… It’s Yaire.”

He feels frozen in place, his insides gone cold.

“Is it… Did you find the…” _body?_ He can’t make himself say it out loud.

“No, Atton. We found _her._ She’s alive.”




Dantooine is different from what he remembers. It isn’t just that what he remembers are kinrath-infested ruins, that now got turned back into a functioning Jedi Enclave without rubble and dead bodies littering the hallways. It feels more peaceful now, but it’s peace born out of a quiet routine of day-to-day life, not a deathlike stillness of a mass tomb. He hates a bit that he can feel it, and he builds his walls even higher, makes his thoughts even louder, making the young Jedi-to-be turn away from him in confusion and disgust.

Good. That’ll teach them not to rummage through someone’s mind without permission.

“Try not to attract too much attention.” Mira whispers as they pass another suddenly-wide-eyed padawan. “Mical is going to kill me, if he ever finds out I brought you here.”

“He’s not here, then? Gee, what a shame.”

“He’s away.” Mira gives him an exasperated look. “There’s been some dissent, it seems to be spreading all over the Republic space. He’s dealing with it on behalf of the Order.”

“You know I don’t actually care, right?”

“Well, you should, since he pretty much forbid me from telling you anything.”

“Of course he did,” Atton scoffs.

“Hey, I don’t agree with him, but still, it’s not what you think,” she shrugs. "He genuinely thinks it’s for your own good.”

A blonde padawan eyeing them curiously while pretending to tend to the plants yelps quietly at the wave of murderous rage Atton feels all of sudden. Mira smiles soothingly at the terrified girl and pushes Atton forward through one of the branching corridors he only vaguely recollects.

“Look,” she says, stopping him. “The truth is, she’s not well. We’re still not sure she’s going to make it. And Mical just didn’t want to make you go through losing her for the second time.”

“How magnanimous of him,” Atton’s voice drips with venom. “Just cut the bullshit, Mira, I couldn’t care less about what the insipid moron thinks of me. He’s lucky he has you as the brains of this entire circus, because if I had found out he was trying to keep me from Yaire, I would have hunt him down and broken every bone in his body.”

“Wow, you’re really making me not regret bringing you here, at all,” she mutters angrily and pulls him by the arm further down the hallway. They’re about to turn into the infirmary when she suddenly stops.

“What the…”she lets out a whisper. Atton follows her awe-struck gaze and feels his own breath catch.

There were days when Atton, drunk on Mandalorian booze and high on Dreamdust, let himself dream up finding Yaire again. She would be healthy and whole, smiling at him, while he cracked a joke and then told her how much he had missed her. He dreamed it nice and simple, so completely unlike his entire life. It’s stupid, he knows, Atton doesn’t deserve nice and simple, but it’s fine, because he never gets it anyway. And yet…

There is Yaire, wearing some kind of soft-looking robes in white and pale brown, sitting cross-legged at the steps of a freshly rebuilt fountain and meditating. She’s surrounded by younger Jedi, situated around her in a half-circle, all of them motionless, completely immersed in whatever trance they are practicing . It’s a picture of tranquility, like something straight out of those holofilms that like to portray Jedi as unerring pillars of wisdom and serenity, and yet… there’s an odd, heavy feeling around them, something he can’t quite put a finger on.

The water gently flowing through the fountain seems deafening in this unnerving quiet, so he can hear Mira’s soft gasp when Yaire’s eyes snap open. He feels his own mouth go dry as she looks straight at him, and he has to force himself not to take a step back.

She is…different. Her normally tan skin looks sickly pale, almost paper-thin on sunken cheeks, and her lips are so white they seem translucent. Gone is the glossiness of her jet-black hair, now hanging around her face in slight disarray. Atton knows they’re all effects of severe exhaustion and malnourishment, it doesn’t make her any less breathtaking than ever, and he’d be the happiest man alive right now, if not for her eyes. There is no warmth in their dusky depths anymore, her gaze is cold, sharp and void-like in ways he dreads to think about.

“You know, coming back from the dead, I expected a little bit more enthusiastic greeting,” Yaire says abruptly, almost making him jump. There is a small smile playing on her lips that makes Atton’s heart constrict painfully in his chest.

“Yaire!” Mira runs up to the fountain and throws her arms around the other woman. “You’re awake, thank the Force, I was so scared you were going to expire before I manage to drag Atton here. Shit,” she sniffs into Yaire’s collar.

“It’s all right, don’t worry, I’m feeling a lot better now.” She keeps stroking Mira’s back, while the Jedi around them are coming out of their trance, oddly vacant expressions on their faces. They look at Atton quizzically, but don’t move otherwise.

“You’re not going to say ‘hi’ to me?” Yaire asks Atton, her smile quivering.

That makes him finally uproot from his spot. He walks up slowly and catches Yaire’s outstretched hand.

“We thought she killed you,” he whispers, voice cracking. “How are you alive? We’ve been looking for you! You just… disappeared. I thought you were dead.”

The small smile drops from Yaire’s face and the entire mood of the moment seems to shift.

“I… can we talk about it later, please?” she replies, voice strangled. “I think I’ve overexerted myself a bit today.” She looks at the group of the young Jedi, who have already started to leave, still eerily indifferent.

“You shouldn’t even be out of bed, let alone running around the Enclave.” Mira grabs her arm and leads her down the steps, throwing Atton a withering glance. He ignores her and tightens his hold on Yaire’s hand just before it’s about to slip away from his grasp.

“Yaire…,” he has to suppress a shudder when her eyes meet his again. He’ll get used to it, he’s sure. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me, too.” She smiles, and it looks happy in the way he so rarely saw during their travels.

For the first and only time in his life he hates her a little for giving him this sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, everything will end well.




Atton goes back to sleep on the ship, even though Mira offers him guest quarters in the compound. He doesn’t _want_ to, his body and mind calling to stay closer to Yaire, to hold on to her and take that gift of her being alive at face value. But, no matter what others may say, he hasn’t survived for so long by being needlessly reckless.

He thinks back to the way she looked at him and lets out a heavy sigh. There is something about her now, that reminds him of Nihilus and the emptiness surrounding him, of Sion’s anger burning relentlessly from the inside. She has changed, there is no doubt, and Atton is not without fault. All that talk about protecting her only to fail at the most crucial moment.

It doesn’t surprise him when he hears quiet footsteps reverberating in the silent corners of Ebon Hawk. She walks around the ship taking in empty, once-familiar spaces with a detached sort of calmness. Atton doesn’t comment, cautiously watching her progress, until she comes up to sit by his side on the tattered couch, hands hidden in too-big sleeves of her robes.

“How?” he asks again, softly.

There’s an odd look on her face. Unfocused, unsettling.

“I survived,” she replies, voice hollow. “Malachor can’t claim me. Not then, not now. Not ever.”

“What happened there? With Kreia?”

“Does it matter? She’s gone, too. I am finally beyond her reach.”

_Are you, really?_

Yaire narrows her eyes. Maybe she caught that stray thought or maybe he’s just that easy to read, it doesn’t matter, he always told her what she didn’t want to hear, he’s not going to shy away from it now.

“I thought there were no more secrets between us, Yaire,” Atton persists, trying to ignore the way her face darkens at his words. “Is it so weird I want to know what happened to you?”

The lights on the ship flicker and then dim, leaving them to sit in near-darkness. Atton can feel her rage burning on his skin, like a brutal force rapidly filling all the spaces between them, sucking up the oxygen, suffocating him slowly.

“What happened?! She beat me and then broke me and there was no one I could turn to! You were gone and I stayed there, on Malachor, wishing I was dead.” Her voice sounds raw, like the venom dripping from her words is physically burning her throat.

Atton catches Yaire’s hands and winces at how cold they are. He half-expected all that hurt and anger to course like fire through her veins, to set him ablaze at the smallest touch.

“I’m sorry,” he says, dropping to his knees. “I’m sorry I left you there. I should’ve looked harder.”

“No,” she bites back, moving away from his reach. “You should have burned it all. And let me burn with it.”


	2. Chapter 2

They don’t talk about it anymore. What is there to talk about, really, what happened cannot be forgotten, neither forgiven, Atton doesn’t know if Yaire is still capable of that much, anyway. He doesn’t want to become her enemy, is too late to be her saviour, he is as useless as Kreia always thought him to be. But he can’t leave her either, definitely not here, among the Jedi, not the way she’s become. Whatever happens, he will stay by her side. Atton knows, better than anyone, when a Jedi is broken, when they are too far gone, and he is painfully aware that the woman he loves is way past everything he has witnessed so far.

Well, _he_ knows it. The Jedi in the Enclave don’t. They are enthralled by Yaire’s very presence, even Mira. Oh, he’s well aware that the former bounty hunter had her doubts, but she never said anything, still thinking Atton is just a lovesick fool. Kreia’s web of lies and deceit is still woven tightly around them all, even after her death.

And so, Mira doesn’t seem to notice how the young Jedi hang on Yaire’s every word, the blind following she has gained practically overnight. As charismatic as she has always been, Atton can tell what’s happening around Yaire now is not natural, it’s something dark and twisted, like Nihilus’ hunger or Sion’s continuous, unrelenting existence. She belongs with them now, maybe not yet as broken or as monstrous, but Atton isn’t sure if there’s anything that could stop her from falling any further.

 _Who’s the fool now?,_ he thinks grimly, standing at Yaire’s side as she watches her Jedi practicing on the courtyard. The unsettling, heavy feeling is back. Scratch that, it has never left, not when he’s near her, it’s just getting more intense by the day.

“When another war comes, they will all be made generals and send off to fight, to lead, to kill. Even though this place is all they know,” Yaire says tonelessly, her expression devoid of any actual concern for the future.

Atton shrugs. “Wasn’t the Jedi _not_ wanting to go to war the entire problem the last time?”

She laughs mirthlessly. “They will tell you war is not their purpose, even though that’s all they are being made for,” she hesitates and looks on, as the training seems to become more heated. “It’s what _I_ was made for. If they didn’t want me to wage war, why did they make me into a soldier? Why did they give me a weapon and taught me how to kill? I was never trained to be a diplomat, Atton, there is no talking over the hum of a lightsaber like mine. I started wars and _I_ ended them. And people got stronger for it.”

 _Oh, sweetheart,_ he thinks, while throwing walls upon walls around his mind. Shields made of pure gibberish, some pazaak, and mindless droning _Yaireyaireyaire._ New layers of protection, not from her, but anyone who comes after them. _My poor, tormented love, how did you get so lost?_

“You brought peace, as well. You helped people, remember?” he risked, catching her fingers in his.

“Like I did on Nar Shadaa?”, she asked quietly. “In Jekk’Jekk Tarr?”

He peers suspiciously at her. “Well, maybe not there, but hey, now, they were after your head, it’s not like they gave you much choice. You did help the Refugee Sector, though, didn’t you?”

“Yes, by killing a lot of people,” she reminds him, a little, amused smile playing on her lips. “But you’re right, there is no choice, not for me, not anymore,” she pauses, struggling for the right words. “There is an emptiness inside me. I’ve never felt it more intensely. They’ve all told me it’s the Force, that I carry a wound, but that’s not it. There is nothing but a war inside me, I long for it. And I know I will have it, sooner or later.”

“Why- why do you think that?”

“Something Kreia told me. There is a threat waiting somewhere outside the known space. I need to be ready for it.” Yaire turns to him fully, a solemn expression on her face. “But first, I need closure here. I am what I am now, but the Order had a hand in making me this way. It shouldn’t be allowed to continue.”

Atton should be used to it by now, the heavy, gut-wrenching disappointment threatening to overwhelm him. It’s not like he was expecting anything else, really, it’s just sometimes hope turns out to be the hardest thing to kill.

“Is that why you wanted me here?” He doesn’t even try to keep the bitterness at bay. Not like it matters, anyway, does it? “It wasn’t Mira, right? It was you?”

Yaire lifts her chin, peering at him through narrowed eyes.

“One of the last things I asked Kreia before I finally got the chance to drive my blade though her heart was if you loved me. I risked it, even though I knew how much she hated you,” she replies, gaze unwavering. “If there is one place within me that the void doesn’t touch, it’s the memory of you. I wanted you here, because I love you.” Yaire’s voice is devoid in any warmth or softness. There’s a hard edge about it instead, like she’s stating a fact, an undisputable truth he should never have questioned.

It’s not a confession he always dreamed about, but it’s enough. More than enough. Contrary to everyone’s belief, he’s not really a fool, so he knows it doesn’t change anything, their love cannot save them or make Yaire whole again.

He uncurls her fingers, kissing softly the bloody nail marks on her palms.

“Then I am here for whatever you need me.”




The few Jedi in the Enclave Yaire deemed beneath her interest are pretty much ignoring him now. They seem to have quickly grown accustomed to his presence, if not outright dismissive. He feels like a fox in a henhouse, all of them so easily breakable and entirely oblivious about it. Not so long ago, he would’ve been unsettled by this knowledge, wary of its dangerous allure, of Yaire’s feelings about it.

Not like it matters anymore.

It should seem laughable now, how desperately he sought redemption from a mass murderer, but it’s not, it’s _not,_ it’s heart-rending and bitter, and the guilt burns through him, blinding him and taking his breath away. Her forgiveness was hollow, even though born out of love, and he should’ve seen right through it, through what she was desperately trying and failing to become again and again, too overridden by her own self-loathing. He should have seen it in the quiet agony she went through every time she looked around her after any battle they had been through, and saw only death and destruction. Through the way she wasn’t able to speak to Bao-Dur for too long, how she loathed him calling her General. How Malachor V was her personal nightmare they abandoned her for.

There was no forgiveness for the likes of them and maybe no redemption either, but he should have made good on his promise, on his useless love, and just held on to her, keep her safe, even from herself. He missed that chance, though, and here they are now: her, Kreia’s shadow and Sion’s sister in bitter misery, and him, the fool who once witnessed and act of selfless love and somehow got it all wrong.

The young Jedi Yaire kept closest to herself are circling nearby, trapped in mindless adoration. It has never even occurred to Atton to question if what he’s feeling is real, if it isn’t just Yaire’s powers keeping him at her side. He doesn’t think so, but at this point, he doesn’t care, either. Nothing can absolve him of his decisions.

“Mira disappeared from the compound few days ago, you know anything about that?” Atton asks, jogging up to Yaire, who is sitting in one of the chairs in the recently rebuilt Jedi Council Chamber.

“I do. I let her go, but don’t worry. She’ll be back with a surprise. One just for you,” she smiles and kisses him softly. It should bother him more, the indifferent way she’s using a woman she once considered a friend and disciple. It doesn’t, though. Yaire was the only reason that made him want to become a better man, but since there’s no need for that now… well, no point in lying to himself, either.

“No more waiting, then?”

Yaire gets up and throws her arms around his neck. Atton can feel the energy thrumming through her body, the excitement about the upcoming battle almost palpable.

“No more waiting,” she whispers and Atton lets out a soft groan when she leans in closer. “And then we’ll be free to go wherever we want.”

“Is that so? Got any specific plans?”

“I want to go to the Unknown Regions, find Revan and tear his heart out. I want to command an army that brings the Sith hiding there to their knees. Other than that? You can choose.”

“My, aren’t you generous today,” he leans in to kiss her again, but stops when he hears a commotion coming from the hallway.

“Step away from him!” Atton recognises the voice and can’t help but smile.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers fondly. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Please, Yaire,” Mical sounds desperate. “You don’t want this, you love him. If there is anything left of you…”.

The handful of remaining Jedi stand by their Master’s side in the middle of the chamber, throwing nervous glances at their unmoving colleagues flanking Atton and Yaire. Mira is hovering hesitantly in the back.

“Can it, kid.” Atton rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“Atton, please, you have to understand, this is not her.”

Oh, but it is. It’s everything she’s always been, deep down, they just never cared enough to see. It’s only fitting then, that he would now become everything he always tried so hopelessly to deny. He will fall with her, and along with them, everything else.

“Oh, what do you know, anyway?”

“Atton, trust me, this… _thing_ is not Yaire,” Mical persists, starting to seriously piss him off. “She doesn’t love you, she doesn’t even know how.”

He feels the sudden onslaught of Yaire’s rage. It’s better than any drug he tried during his lonely evenings in Jekk’Jekk Tarr.

“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?” Atton moves casually towards Mical. “You know, Mira told me how you didn’t want me here.”

“Atton, listen to me, it’s not what you think. I-“

“Yeah, she said the same.” He shrugs, coming up stand face to face with the other man. Mical’s eyes are darting nervously towards Yaire. Good, as long as he doesn’t look at Atton’s hands. “I didn’t believe her, either.”

“The feelings I had for Yaire-,“ he starts, raising his palms and trying to calm Atton down.

“Don’t matter anymore. But you know it. You’re not _that_ much of an idiot,” Atton says and fires his blaster straight into Mical’s midriff, taking in the stunned expression on his face. “Just enough of one to let me get close to you.”

It’s a short work after that, the remaining Jedi neither powerful nor experienced enough to fight against the famed Exile, or not detached enough to go against their former friends. Dantooine becomes a hollow tomb once more and Yaire stands in the middle of it, deep in thought, yet oddly at peace. Gone are the agony and crippling regrets, along with any trace of the woman once so tormented by her actions.

“Maybe I did die on Malachor after all,” she whispers, fitting seamlessly into the rhythm of his thoughts. He finds it doesn’t bother him as much as it used to. Whether they are doomed to lose themselves in one another, or keep falling until they fade into nothingness, he will be right there with her, in any way she needs him.

This time he will keep his promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's something I've been wondering for a while now. What if Sion was right, what if Exile turned out too weak, too broken, what if she fell on Malachor V, but ended following in Sion's and Nihilus' footsteps, what would she become? And thus, this fic was born, for better or worse ;)  
> Any and comments are greatly appreciated, I'd love to see your thoughts both about the fic and the idea itself!


End file.
